


Purpose

by kegel84



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:54:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kegel84/pseuds/kegel84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Robin is recovering in the Holy Land, he receives a gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purpose

Much peeked into the tent, shadows falling on his head and cooling it for a moment from the glaring sun outside. He caught Robin's gaze, before he fully entered the shelter, bringing with him not the cooling breeze Robin could have hoped for. 

“You're awake,” he nodded.

“Of course,” Robin said dully. “It is almost noon.” 

There was a slight annoyance in him about the fact that Much seemed to think he should still be sleeping all the time. In Robin's mind, he had been lying in his bunk long enough. It hadn't been of his choice. Much had told him about the time when he had been barely conscious for days after being stabbed when Saracen's attacked the King's camp at Acre. Robin only remembered faintly, having drifted in and out of dreams and nightmares. 

Now this lay behind him, and despite the lingering pain in his side, he was on the way to recovery. Still, he was not allowed to get up yet, a fact that bothered him to no end, although he knew he had all the time in the world. The king had already moved on and with them the fighting. Only the dead and the severely wounded had remained behind, the first buried while Robin was still lying in feverish dreams, the latter convalescing while being attended by a few remaining men. 

Robin bit on his lip as Much moved over to him, probably wanting to take a look at the healing wound again. Robin was tired of it. 

“Leave me,” he said irritatedly, before Much had even come to a stop beside him, though he knew he would only feel yet more bored and dull than he already was, if Much were to leave. 

The man stopped in his movements and it was only then that Robin saw that he was carrying a small bundle in his hands. Now his curiosity was piqued. 

“What's this?” he asked.

“Somebody left it outside our tent, Master. There's a note with it. I think it says your name.” 

“What's inside?” Robin prodded him. Much unwrapped the bundle, sand falling of the cloth as he did so. Inside he found a book. 

Much held it in his hands, looking down at its cover. He handed it to Robin then who eagerly grabbed it, after being forced to amuse himself with watching shadows moving outside of the tent and listening to the sound of business and conversation that he could not take part in for endless days. 

He opened the book cover and found another note inside. 

“It's the Qur’an,” he said after a moment, reading the French writing on the note. “the Holy Book of the Saracens.” 

He had heard of the book before, of course, but he had never seen a copy of it during the years in the King's guard. He knew that even if he had, it still would not have been of any use to him, as he was not able to read the Arabic script. During the five years in the Holy Land, he had picked up a few phrases of the language, but he had never come to study its writing and knew that it was very different from the one he had been taught in his native language. As he held the book Much had found outside of the tent, he realised that it would not be any different with this copy. 

He continued reading the note though, curious at the least as to who had brought it and why, the note with his name indicating that it had been intended for him. 

“It's in Latin,” he exclaimed then, taking in the content of the note.

“In Latin? Like the Bible?” Much wondered. 

“It says it's a copy of a translation made in Spain in 1143,” Robin continued. 

“Can you read it?” 

“I think so, yes,” Robin answered, propping himself up to get into a position more suitable for reading. 

“Master, you need to rest-!” 

Robin sighed. “I won't move any further. But I really want to know who sent this. It doesn't say in the note.” 

“I do not know, Master,” Much told him. “There has been talk of Saracen traders coming here to the camp, but I have not seen them myself.” 

Robin frowned. He longed to know more about what was going on in the world outside. 

After a moment, he opened the book in his hands at a random place and looked down at the Latin writing. He had told Much that he could read it, but in truth he had not read any more Latin for years than it was necessary to read a few small notes, or well known verses in the Bible from time to time. 

As he tried to decipher the meaning of the text in front of his eyes, Much spoke again.

“Master?”

Robin led his gaze stay at the text for a few more moments, before he looked over to Much. The man had seated himself with what Robin recognized as one of his own tunics, although he would have thought that Much surely had to have all of them mended by now, Robin having no opportunity to tear any of them lately. 

After a few more seconds of silence it occurred to him that Much had not continued speaking. It was an odd occurrence, for the man usually didn't need permission from his master to start talking. 

“What is it, Much?”

Much seemed to hesitate, and Robin wondered if he actually saw him blushing slightly in the dim light of the tent. 

“Do you think... I could ever learn to read? To really read? Not just recognize your name, my name, you know?” 

Robin did not answer directly, a reply not immediately on his mind. He had never thought about it. Sure, Much had been taught to know and write his own name and to recognize Robin's, so he would know if any letter was intended for him. But Robin had never thought about the man learning more than this. He did not need this kind of learning as a manservant. 

As annoyed as Robin was about being confined to his bunk for a long time, he also knew that had to thank Much for his recovery. The man cared deeply for him, and Robin was aware that he might not have survived without the man's constant attention. 

He looked into Much's hopeful face. “Maybe,” he said with a smile. 

He could not bring himself to say more. For though Much had served him for many years, five of them here in the Holy Lands, had saved his life, how could he promise him that he would ever come to be more than his manservant? 

Maybe though, he would teach the man to read anyway, if he found the patience for it. 

Much nodded to Robin's answer, and there was only a slight frown on his face. 

“I'm sure you will be well enough to get up soon, Master,” he fell into his usual tone of conversation then, continuing to mend what was definitely another one of Robin's torn tunics. “You'll be well. And I'll be happy about it. And we'll return to England.” 

As he watched him, Robin realised that he could not know what would become of Much. He could never know what the way of the world would be. His own world had long been shaken, destroyed even, by what he had seen in the years of war. If it were not for Much, he knew, his own life would have been over, there would have been nothing more he could have done, thoughts of which were now on his mind, now that the questions of what was to come were creeping in increasingly.

After watching the man on his side for a few more moments, Robin turned his gaze back to the text of the book he had received as a gift. Maybe he should have started reading at the first page, instead of starting to try and understand the text somewhere in the middle of the book where he had first opened it, but he figured he would still have enough time for it later.

As he continued listening to Much talking, and studying the text, the meaning of the verse he had been looking at was slowly coming to him.

_For every man there is a purpose which he sets up for his life and which he pursues. Let yours be the doing of all good deeds._


End file.
